


Silver Fish

by Ketchrey



Series: Undisclosed [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Banter, Deeper issues hinted, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Language, Sexual Tension, Shore Leave, Side story 'Recount', Sugar and shellfish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7003465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketchrey/pseuds/Ketchrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connecticut drinks and Washington wishes he had. She's pretty interesting. Still trying to decide how he likes that.<br/>The seafood is terrible</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Fish

**Author's Note:**

> When everyone else bails, Connie and Wash get the bar all to themselves.

 

"You're like a boy scout."

Washington casts a look down the bar, considering the woman to his right. She's twirling a bottle over the counter surface but her eyes are looking across at him. Warm shadows sculpt the subtle shape of her chin, edging the bridge of a button nose. It takes the cold to do that to her, to make her look sharp. The tip of her nose narrows in the field, but under layers of a stratosphere the point rounds out and becomes less harsh. A snort breaks his concentration. Connecticut the soldier is deftly. Connecticut the drunk is impatient.

Leaning into the counter she repositions another of the empty bottles to stand on its base, a fold of bangs slipping from the tuck of her ear.

Resettling into an upright seat, Washington redirects his gaze back through the staff window. "How am I like a boy scout?"

She hums from her place two seats down, clumsily folding one leg over the other. "You know what you do... You're crisp, you obey. You submit,"

"I do not submit." He moves her empty line up of bottles down the opposite end of the bar away from her hand gestures. ..."I follow the rules."

"Fucking right you do Wash."

He takes the time to actually look at her, rendered incredulous by the fact she's grinning in this feral mutt ready to tear-you-a-new-one grin. "Why is that funny to you?"

"Everything's funny to me."

Connecticut makes to scoot over the seats. She gets herself over into the stool next to his before losing balance and toppling partially into his lap. Swaying almost she uses him as an awkward pillar while she reestablishes balance. With hands gripping his shirt she drags herself up sliding the side of her breast fully up his bicep. She flashes a jeering sort of smile. "Bet you're a total lightweight."

"Lighter than you?" His eyes guiltily tracking the elevated rise and falls of the swell in her top. "Who would get us back if I was even half your degree of 'fucked up'? We'd end up in a back alley somewhere."

"We would have to find our own way on this planet. Start new lives, take up brand new alternate entities..." Her eyes go off with that bearing an excited expression over her freshly constructed plot. "We'd get cheap rooms across from the harbor, wake up everyday to the rot of shellfish and salt water."

"Sounds nice." He humors. "What are we doing for work?"

Smirking like she's anticipated the question, Connecticut very darkly laces her fingers. "I gut fish at a stand on the docks. You are a lobsterman by day and prostitute by night."

"Very nice."

"Fucking right."

She gives the scenario a break, pressing herself down against the flat of the bar releasing a heavy sigh. The sounds of the bar are dull and fazed out due to the hour. From the far end of the kitchen someone dumps a bucket of sloppy fish entrails and fry pan grease presumably gathered throughout the day. By no means was it classy, but the atmosphere had been comfortable enough. If nothing else, he'd give York that.

"You think it's rude they all just left?"

His attention is drawn back to the half limp woman next to him. Connecticut has the right side of her face pressed to the counter but her neck is slanted to look at him.

..."I think it's late, and they wanted to get some sleep."

Little creases form up the line of her nose, thin lips pulling into a snicker. "Sleeping. Okay, yeah Wash..."

The tone she utilizes peaks his interest. "What?"

Her shoulder muscles flex and contort as she moves up onto her elbows. Swiping her bangs from her eyes as though she takes leisure in refacing him. "Oh boy... You really don't know?"

"Out with it."

"York's bangin' the boss."

It takes a beat for her bluntness to absorb and when it does he expresses nothing but horror and a blend between awe and astonishment. Connecticut keeps her face straight for a full eight seconds. Then she snorts.

"What, never saw that one coming?"

"I keep the hell out of everyone else's private lives!" He hisses, sulking further into the space dividing them. "Why did you have to tell me like that?"

"Jesus, a pussy and now a prude. Bet you got all the girls back home." One of her nails picks at a chip in the counter top. "Why did you think they were leaving together?"

"Maine left too!"

"Scandalous!"

Washington puts a hand down the side pocket of his pants, shaking his head and fishing out a handful of bills. He takes a moment to count out the change for hers. He leaves the mound between them on the bar top, returning the rest to his pocket. "Probably time we get going."

She whines something indistinguishable, thunking her forehead against the counter.

Getting up from his seat, he shoulders up her jacket, catching a brisk wind directly to the back of the neck as a door across the pub is held ajar. "Come on, up." He holds out an arm for her, an arm that she swings at and misses twice. She reaches again and he goes in for her wrist, dragging her up from a slouch.

"Oh... I might throw up."

"I might ditch you."

She shoves into his arm and trips instantaneously. ..."Why did you make me drink that shit? Oh wow that fish..."

"Always seems to come back to me." He folds Connecticut's palms over the back of a chair before letting her stand on her own. "Let's hear how this one's even remotely my fault."

"You stick up for your team. ...Idiot." Her right hand comes loose for her to emphasize with. "If you had even the slightest modicum of balls you wouldn't have let the lady who's a less than third your body mass swallow... I can see your jockstrap."

"Then don't stare."

She cocks her head over the view being presented of her squad mate on all fours. ..."That's glass."

"Yeah it is."

"Huh. Don't cut yourself open, I have no band-aids." She puts more of her weight against the chair. "You know, there are people they pay to do that."

"I broke it. I'm picking it up." He's towing a hand cupped around a collected mound of shards. ..."Just try not to fall into me."

"We would not be friends. If we had known each other before... I could not be affiliated with you."

He snorts. "Because you're such a rebel?"

"Because I'm not a pussy,"

..."Connie, shush." He murmurs, several heads lifting.

"Total. Boy scout." She enunciates, plunking heavily onto the flat table top across from the one where he's knelt. "Were you in the chess club too?"

"Hey, Corporal!"

The table top shutters and she hears Washington hiss. He draws back holding a forearm to his head and clenching one of his fingers.

The pudgy faced bartender has paused whatever he's been attending to between the kitchen and bar with his sight set their way. "I just wiped those tables. Get her down."

"Oh yeah, sure." Washington whirls his wrist as though he's shaking off water. "Connie, could you sit in the booth?"

"Could you be any more of a pussy?"

"Connie,"

Her neck rolls with her eyes and she slips her bum off the table top. ..."Only because you asked nicely." She mutters, plunking herself down on the cushioned seat and swivelling. She drops her elbows, rattling a stack of glasses and cutlery in the centre of the table. ..."Hurry up."

"Minutes ago you didn't want to leave." Washington retorts, bending back under. ..."Just to set the record straight, I was not on the chess club."

"Liar."

"My family never really played board games."

"Nope. You were in the chess club. Chemistry too if I were to wager."

"That so?"

"Perfect grades, perfect house and perfect family life..." She flicks a packet of sugar between knuckles of her middle and index fingers. "That's you."

Washington grunts over her legs, piling more glass into his hand. "Pass me a napkin-" He jerks hard enough that the shards to poke into his palm. He flexes his fingers, molars grinding. ..."Don't."

The fork point pokes slightly lower on his shoulder.

He manages not to jump, a hiss of air leaving his mouth. "Okay, Connie? Connie, you know what would help me out? If you could sit right here and not touch anything for two minutes. Can you do that?"

A long inhale expands in her chest while he passively stares her down. Steel clatters lightly as she rests the fork back into the pile. With a sharp huff she folds up her knees and rolls clumsily over to her belly, hugging to her chest an empty beer taken from the table top. Her eyes flick over his guiltily.

"Hi."

"Hey."

"I was a brownie."

"You were not."

"Four years."

"Did you sell cookies?"

"That's girl guides, jack-off."

"Excuse me then," He returns to swiping up the floor. "Maybe shut your eyes for a bit. I won't be long here. Then we can go."

..."I'm not tired." She groans, pressing her face into the underside of her elbow. "...It smells weird right here."

"Does it?"

"...Like school bus seats. Let's just go."

"One minute okay?" A shard bites into his finger as he twists around and dumps his handful onto the table top. He squints to pick out flimsier pieces under shadow of the booth. "Bear with me,"

The tickle of particles nearly goes unnoticed until pricking the hair follicles on the nape of his neck, sand like specks beading down the length of nerves and showering his scalp.

"Stop it."

To contest Connecticut shakes the rest of the sugar out into his hair and lets her arm hang limply from the booth.

Washington waits a beat before he sits up. The sugar settled on his scalp slides down his neck and shoulders beneath his shirt. Splaying herself like a well fed cat, Connecticut's smile pokes through her chocolatey mop. She tears open a pink packet with her teeth, sounding an unperturbed whine. She picks out bits between her fingers and flicks them at his face. The sugar dusts the shallows of his eyes, flecking against clusters of freckles, then disappearing on their drop to the ground.

"Connie, come on." He attempts, having to slide back on his rear as she thrusts the rest of the packet at him. "That guy at the bar is looking."

"Why do we care?"

"Well you don't, clearly," He mutters, begrudgingly allowing her drunken tugs to the back of his shirt. Shifting up onto his knees he gets his head and shoulders up between the slight table gap and glowers. Inches from his nose Connecticut cocks her head, bottom lip fully pouted.

"Please come up here?"

"Let me finish,"

She groans loudly, flipping to her back. "Don't be the boy scout, Wash. Nobody needs the scout, nobody cares about him."

"Maine gets to sleep, boss gets laid, York wins the the night all around... I get saddled with you." Sprawling out his last handful of glass particles he pulls himself up. ..."And only because you're gonna forget this in the next couple of hours, I was the kid nobody thought would make it through to the end of high school. I barely avoided a juvie record. Not by a long shot was everything perfect."

She sits herself up, leaning into his shoulder. A grin pulls at her lips as she runs her fingers up his head, shaking out the clinging bits of sugar. Her fingers drag a little pleasantly down the scruff of his neck. "I like you."

"Well, I like you too."

"I'm going to save you."

"Okay," He watches her fingers go back to spooling the empty bottle. "Thanks."

"But just for now," She flits her eyes up joshingly. "Would you be up for holding me while I vomit into the street?"

"That bad huh?"

"Gotta be the sea spray..." She hiccups softly. "Why did you let me do this?"

"And we're back to this." He moves in close, slipping an arm around her waist. "How about we walk and talk?"

Their inch out of the booth is slow and measured with him guiding. Hanging like she's been linked to his hip, Connecticut allows herself to be hoisted along out of her seat, one arm slung over Washington and the other clinging on to her caramel tinted bottle. Washington's gate slows to hold up next to the bar counter, offering a weak grimace to the stout man with his back to the wall behind it. "Sorry again for the scene." An awkward beat. "I really thought it was going to hit him."

"Just take your pixie and get out."

"Hey, you be nice to him." Connecticut growls, risking a precarious sway out of Washington's hold. "...A pixie? You sad little man."

"Connie,"

"You Tinkerbell, I've got nothing against. Come back anytime, just don't bring butterfingers."

..."Tinkerbell?" She snickers, having drifted within reach of counter space. "Tinkerbell is _blonde_ , cockbite."

Washington clasps both her biceps gently. "Let's go, Connie."

Maybe she hadn't heard the subtle warning in his tone. Maybe his: no-shit-please-don't-ruin-my-evening look wasn't as easily perceived as he had believed it to be. Or maybe she had. Either way, reaction time is still seconds too late for him to grab her and tow her out the door.

The arm she had reeled back has already released. The beer bottle catches light as sails over the bar, gleams like honey into a wall of suspended glasses and the resulting erupt of crystal sends an unpleasant ripple down the collect of Washington's spine. There's a stunned beat of immobility that passes before his nerves recalibrate. Connecticut sways on the spot, body bumping into him as she stumbles back. From the younger man wiping down a corner booth to the authentically gruff potential owner of the pub slowly rising from his half slanted seat behind the bar, everything is still.

Until it's not.

Connecticut doesn't leave him the time to think past deliberation as she faces the door and with speed to be admired has his arm, and is shoving the weight of herself into his bulk. "Go, go, go!" She hisses, sending him back first into the exit door and stumbling out into the night. Someone yells but they're already running.

He takes in a lung full of dirty, sea salt air and forces it down to bolt with her up ahead. She sprints like she doesn't have a pint of unfiltered alcohol in her. Her hair flares on the wind behind her, spidery arms glowing off the ghost light of twin moons. The awful wind whips his face, wetting his vision and numbing skin as his legs pound the cobble rock. They round the bend of the next building and she half skids over a loose bootlace. A snort bursts from her throat, rising in volume as he grabs at her arm to keep her from going all the way down.

Leading for the both of them now Washington searches the harbor front, keeping Connecticut's weight gathered by his arm. She staggers to keep up, tripping suddenly and nearly brings him down with her into a vacant market stand. In a split decision, he tows her along with him between stands, dropping into a crouch behind the gutting troughs.

Connecticut is panting hard, shaking like it's a struggle to breathe.

He listens to dead air for a full half minute before attending to the pounding in his chest. "What the fuck, Connie!" He pants little above a whisper, slipping on the balls of his feet. "Why would you do that to me? Why?"

She takes one look at him and her mouth spasms. The smile busts her lips and she drops flat on her ass, laughing in hysterics.

"You're crazy!"

"Your hair," She gets out, snorting hard. "Fucking christ, it's got this Farah thing goin' on,"

"Fuck you." He runs one of his still trembling hands through his hair.

..."Hey, do you know where we are?"

"Quit it Connie." But he shuffles against the pavement and looks around. It has to be near to early morning, and the boardwalk is clear.

"Know what's funny?" In her provoking gaze there's a glint. "We still wound up in a back alley..."

"We're not lost." He mutters, scowling at her when she grins. "Give me a minute to catch my breath psychopath, we can figure this out."

"There's a boat there we could hijack, maybe a shady guy down the block who'd be interested in dealing shellfish through the black market-"

"I know the coordinates for our LZ. Worst case scenario, we call Carolina."

"You're really not up for midnight fishing?"

"It's past midnight." He corrals. "Besides, the way you're talking combined with my luck, one of us would end up in the water. So, I'll pass."

She claps her hands on her knees. "Uh huh, okay. I get it."

"Nothing against you."

"Sure."

"...Are you... Did that seriously upset you?"

"No." She sniffles quietly. ..."I almost killed Carolina. Did anybody tell you about that?"

..."Okay, that wasn't entirely your fault."

"Doesn't matter." She smiles, staring past the dock over the water. "They're gonna be watching now. Everybody waiting for me to fuck up."

"We all fuck up."

"Not those guys." Her bangs flutter away from the hollow of her cheek, hovering on the breeze. "Never those guys..."

Washington presses his shoulders back against the cart's leg. "Yeah, seems like it sometimes."

For a moment, it looks like she's tearing up but then the angle of her chin dips and she's grinning. "Even for the boy scout?"

"Have you met the boy scout? They called me the Lucky Rabbit in basics because I always just squeaked by. Always made it, but barely."

He smiles because she does, taking notice of the dimple to the left of her lower lip and subtle shiver up her arms that spikes gooseflesh against a fresh bout of wind. It takes another beat to remove himself from his stupor and notice she's looking at him too. She places a fist against his chest, bunching a handful of his shirt and gathering it there.

..."Would you hate it if my channel name for you became, Lucky?"

..."Would you take me lobstering next time we're on leave?"

One of her fingers twines the grey fabric of his shirt and spreads, palm gliding down his ribs to settle limply over his side. Over the booze she smells like something sweet. Nothing floral, and more of a spice and saccharine. Like freshly baked bread, and oatmeal and bunt cake and she's not from his 'back home', but right here she might be something very close to it.

"Wash?"

"Hmm?"

"My head hurts..."

Washington gives a reassuring rub to her razor back, drawing her into an arm that she goes ahead and curls under. "Yeah well, we all make mistakes."


End file.
